Sleeping Dogs

Sleeping Dogs

Book - 1992
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He came to England to rest. He calls himself Michael Shaeffer, says he's a retired American businessman. He goes to the races, dates a kinky aristocrat, and sleeps with dozens of weapons. Ten years ago it was different. Then, he was the Butcher's Boy, the highly skilled mob hit man who pulled a slaughter job on some double-crossing clients and started a mob war. Ever since, there's been a price on his head. Now, after a decade, they've found him. The Butcher's Boy escapes back to the States with more reasons to kill. Until the odds turn terrifyingly against him . . . until the Mafia, the cops, the FBI, and the damn Justice Department want his hide . . . until he's locked into a cross-country odyssey of fear and death that could tear his world to pieces . . . "Exciting . . . Suspenseful . . . A thriller's job is to make you turn the pages until the story's done and your eyes hurt and the clock says 3 a.m. . . . I wouldn't try to grab this one away from somebody only half-way through. No telling what might happen." -- Michael Dirda, The Washington Post Book World
Publisher: New York : Random House, c1992.
Edition: 1st ed.
ISBN: 9780679410645
0679410643
Branch Call Number: FIC PER
Characteristics: 337 p. ; 25 cm.

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j
jimg2000
Mar 18, 2015

“I didn’t mean to,” Wolf said. “I meant it. We don’t have a whole lot of choice about certain things, and death is one of them. But you do have a choice about how you think about it.”
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There were all those men who went off to wars and saw and did unspeakable things, and then after a year or two they were perfectly fine—or at least they appeared to be.
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Schaeffer knew that Eddie Mastrewski would have told him he was crazy. “Are you telling me you’re going to sit here on your ass in the sunshine like a superannuated tortoise listening to a bunch of Germans playing violins? Look at you, for Christ’s sake. You’re practically dead already, ...”

j
jimg2000
Mar 18, 2015

She was living the life she had said she would never live. Her children were growing up without seeing her for ten or twelve hours a day while she was out chasing a career she didn’t want. Another woman played with them, dressed them, took Amanda out in the stroller and said the word tree or squirrel to her for the first time.
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“It’s a golden retriever,” said McCarron. He reached down and pounded the dog. To Fratelli it seemed he had hammered it pretty hard, but the dog appeared to love it, so he ventured closer. “Don’t worry,” said McCarron. “He doesn’t bite.” “Then what good is he?” McCarron seemed to think about this for a long time. “My wife bought him,” he said finally.

j
jimg2000
Mar 18, 2015

Bala: I had interests in corporations, T-bills, oil leases, franchises, bonds, real estate, stocks. That’s what made the money. Why do you think the people who really own this country put their money in those things? Because they’ve got no balls? Let me tell you, if Citibank or Salomon Brothers thought they could make more money stealing cars, you wouldn’t be able to get a ride from here to the bathroom.

j
jimg2000
Mar 18, 2015

The room contained about thirty-five people, all very British and all apparently from the class of British people who always seemed to be busy doing things that couldn’t possibly bring in any money, but didn’t necessarily cost much, either: gardening and bird hikes and lectures. He wondered how many of them knew Latin, and decided that probably all of them did.
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It was like that Shakespeare play they made everybody read in tenth grade. The bastard felt like a king, sitting there in the sunshine with a woman who wore the kind of jewelry a queen might have. Well, today was the day that Birnam Wood was coming to Dunsinane.

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j
jimg2000
Mar 18, 2015

Second of the Butcher's Boy trilogy, with similarity in plot, actions, pace and intensity of the kills. Its final few chapters were climatic and hard to put down, past your bed time or not. Agree with: “The cross-country flight is made up of pure thrills, plenty of wit and humor, and eventually ends with a climax you’ll have to read yourself.” Rocky Mountain News.

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